


The Jacket

by jehanjetaime



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bisexual Grantaire, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jehan, Rich!Grantaire, but it's REALLY vague, mentions of past childhood sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire is a rich young man, Jehan is neither rich nor binary, and they share a brief interlude under an awning during a downpour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jacket

"Why are you sitting here? You'll ruin your nice jacket."

Grantaire looks up at the voice. It's a soft one, gentle and unidentifiable. Looking at the mouth, done up in pale pink lipstick - messed and not put on very well to begin with, he thought - does not help him define the voice coming from it. He trails his eyes up the face. A nose piercing that still looks red and new. Eyes over done in thick, clumpy mascara and blue eyeliner. Hazel eyes, wide. Red-orange hair in a wild mess. "Well," he says, watching the rain pound into that freckled skin above them, "I'm not the one standing IN the rain...I'm sitting, as you can tell, safe underneath an awning."

"Your jacket's still wet," the intruder points out, gesturing with a gloved hand to the splotches on his satin jacket.

"Win some, lose some." Grantaire shrugs and moves over, making room. "ALL of you is wet."

"I was in the rain. It's much easier to commune with the Earth when drenched in her mother's milk, don't you find?"

"Uh. Sure." Is this kid high? Can this kid AFFORD to get high? Judging by non-artful tears and clothes that don't match, Grantaire doesn't think so. He can't quite figure out, between the breathy voice and covered form, exactly what's underneath that ugly tye-dye shirt and denim vest - other than far too many visible ribs that he'd bet anything are riding up and down those sides.

"My name is Jehan." That gloved hand is offered to Grantaire once more, this time for a shake. "And I am a 'they'. I see you looking, wondering. Most people do. Unless...are you looking to buy?"

That makes Grantaire's stomach tie itself into knots. Buy _what_? "Uhm. Grantaire. And no thanks."

"I didn't think so; you look awful young." Jehan reaches up and moves damp curls from Grantaire's forehead.

Grantaire gives them a look, feeling a little bit affronted. "I'm sixteen, old enough for anything you're selling. And you look even younger than me!"

"Only by two years, I think." They close their eyes and rock back and forth a little. Grantaire pulls away, unsure of if they are trying to remember how old they are, or remember how to count. But suddenly those bright eyes pop open again, staring into Grantaire's soul. "What are you doing out here?"

"Sitting." He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, then offers Jehan one. Once shining embers are bouncing in front of both of their lips, Grantaire nudges their elbow. "Is that against the law now?"

Jehan laughs, the cigarette hanging expertly from their mouth, never falling. "Do I look as if I care if something is illegal or not? I'm just not used to such nicely dressed young men around here, or sitting under awning of abandoned cafés. Forgive me, if you ARE a young man."

"Uh yeah." Among his rich, often conservative classmates, people don't ask that sort of thing. But Grantaire is on the Internet, on queer forums and MOGAI blogs; he knows about this sort of stuff. Grantaire gives his school uniform a glance and a scoff. "I usually don't wear it outside of school, trust me. It's not my style."

"Where do you go to school?" Their fingers touch the patch sewn into the jacket, but in the dark it's too hard to see. 

"Just." He feels uncomfortable telling a kid dressed like this, who MIGHT only be fourteen, that he goes to the most prestigious school in the city. They look rough. Now that they're sitting down, Grantaire sees a bruise on their neck and bags under their eyes (and the mascara). "One across the city."

"Well it has lovely taste. That's a gorgeous colour." They run their hands over the scarlet edged lapels, contrasting with the pale yellow of the rest of the thing. Grantaire hates it so much - along with the tan pants, the red tie, the button-ups that HAVE to be buttoned ALL the way up. None of it looks good, and it clashes with his tan skin. He's not even that dark, and he's still probably the darkest person in his school. "Like peppers...red peppers and butter...."

That makes him laugh. "We always say it looks like blood and pus. Trust me, it's hideous in real light."

They shrug and settle against the wall. Grantaire watches them blow a few expert smoke rings, then responds with one of his own. Two matching grins follow. "So," Jehan says, pulling out a comb missing a few teeth. "What's a boy from across the city doing all the way down here?"

"Anything I want?" Another laugh as they comb out their hair. "Just trying to escape."

The moment the words are out of his mouth, they feel stupid. What's Grantaire escaping from? A huge house, warm food, and a dry bed, while he can tell from the growling of this kid's stomach that they're hungry. How long have they been hungry? He pulls out his school bag and roots through it - yes! A bag of potato chips. It's been in there a couple days, but to someone with an empty stomach, that shouldn't matter. He opens the bag and offers Jehan some, as if he just wanted a snack. No need to embarrass the kid. The teenagers share the chips in quiet, and Grantaire lets his mind wander a little.

"Trying to escape what?" Jehan asks, greasy fingers poised at their lips. They're looking at Grantaire thoughtfully, and it make him uncomfortable.

"Uh. People, I guess. My parents." Who do love him, and he loves them. They just don't quite get him, with their "traditional" upbringings and church-going ways. So sometimes Grantaire likes to put a little fear in them - maybe if he acts up enough, they'll just be glad that he's not in a gang or prison when he comes out. He doesn't even want to think of it, much less think of doing it on TOP of trying to make them understand what bisexuality is. They're not bad people, he's just unsure if they'll get it.

Jehan nods knowledgeably. "I understand, my friend. Sometimes the puffy seed must drift away from the dandelion. I left my parents long ago, running free to the wind."

Grantaire watches their fingers dance through the air, then delve back into the chip bag. He feels guilty now. Here he is, hiding from something that might not even be a real issue - he's never even brought UP his orientation to his parents, out of fear - and this kid would rather live on the streets, he assumes, then go home. It's not proper, he guesses, but then again Grantaire is NEVER proper. And he's curious. "Why uh. Did you run?"

The way their hands fall to their vest, tucking it closer about them, answers his question for him even without their next words. "Because no doors locked in my old apartment. Mother Earth provides her children with NO doors, and that was safer."

Despite that smile, Grantaire feels sick. He wants to take this kid home and help them. In his pocket, his phone rings. Grantaire pulls it out, sees that it's from his mom. He glances to Jehan, then shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I have to go.

"Not because of that!" Now he seems insensitive. But he feels close to crying and wants to go home. He feels bad for making his mom worry, just like every time. "Just. I have to go now."

Jehan nods. Grantaire stands up, leaving the chips. He moves his phone to his pants pocket, then takes his jacket off. "Here, since you like it so much. It'll get me out of having to wear it for a couple days."

There is no shame as Jehan takes the jacket. In fact, they look at it as if nothing could make them happier. "That's kind. I do so love to see humanity in humans...thank you."

"You're doing me a favour." Grantaire shrugs his bag back onto his shoulder and steps out into the rain. "Be careful, alright?"

"You too!" Jehan watches him leave, then rolls up the bag to save the rest of the chips for later. They push their treat into an inside pocket of their vest. It's not until the rain lets up that they stand and put the jacket on. It fall heavily to one side. They reach in the offending pocket to find Grantaire's wallet. It's bulging with cash, a Metro card - how will he get home? - and an ID. Jehan considers taking the cash, but shakes the idea away. Grantaire is long gone by now, and as badly as Jehan wants to repay his kindness by returning the wallet, they will not go to the police station.

No. In the morning, Jehan goes to the library and uses a computer just long enough to Google the address on Grantaire's ID. It's in the nicest area of the city. Jehan could never walk there. They figure that Grantaire won't be too mad if they use his Metro card to return his wallet. If he's as rich as his school - which Jehan looked up after reading the patch - and his address indicate, Jehan bets that he has a personal driver and just uses the subway to have freedom. All the rich kids who slum do that. He'll never miss the thing.

The train ride is surprisingly calm, with a book stolen from the library's sale shelf - they'll return it - and the quiet of mid afternoon. Once Jehan arrives at their stop, it's still quite a walk to Grantaire's house. The buildings get nicer, wider, as they move along the clean streets. No matter what looks they get, Jehan does not feel as if they don't belong amongst the nice apartment buildings and townhouses. Halfway there, on a nearly empty street, they swipe some flowers from a box. 

Grantaire's building is large, and white. Jehan peers into the window, and they can see very nice furniture through a crack in the curtains. They move to the door, check the mail slot. It still works, and they slip the wallet, sans a Metro card, in through the opening. Then the flowers, one by one. No one comes to the door, no one stops them. Jehan assumes that he's at school and his parents are working. With a shrug, they skip down the steps. Their new jacket shines in the sun, and Jehan's walk back to the subway is slow. They rub the patch and wonder if Grantaire was in trouble for coming home without the jacket. They may never know.

But maybe they'll wander past that closed café a bit more from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
